


take me for granted

by didthattwinkjustcommittreason



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Arthur cares, Canon Era, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s05e09 With All My Heart, M/M, Merlin Deserves Better (Merlin), he barely plays a role i just thought you should know, hes just a lil dumb, i love mordred, s5 humor is not funny, unless i change my mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:01:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29383173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/didthattwinkjustcommittreason/pseuds/didthattwinkjustcommittreason
Summary: He didn’t feel like beating sense into the prat right now; he didn’t even want to stand upright anymore. He’d catch up later and they could all make a big joke about how useless he was or whatever and he’d reject Gwen’s pity with some offhanded comment about the irony of how little Arthur kept in his big head.--Instead of reminding the king that he's forgotten his manservant, "the Dolma" decides to take a well-deserved moment.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 213





	take me for granted

**Author's Note:**

> hello i know i have joined this fandom late but i am joining the Season Five Humor is Bullshit™ bandwagon as i continue to make my way to the end
> 
> like c'mon bbc. you could have had many jokes with old woman merlin (why is he so good at playing old people?? lmfao must be all that time with gaius) and you just decide to make arthur an insensitive prat? k
> 
> Santa Fe by Autoheart kinda fits the vibes for this one? in any case i recommend the song if you're bored or in the mood for a lil modest piano

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Merlin pressed, standing there indignantly in his Dolma disguise.

Gwen’s perfect brow drew together in elegant confusion; Mordred barely glanced up from where his chin was tucked against his chest, exhausted. Merlin had no eyes for them, only the king.

Arthur frowned, glancing from side to side as if the something in question was going to jump out and present itself. “No?”

Righteous anger boiled beneath Merlin’s papery old woman skin for just a moment before it drained away. He deflated. “Better get a move on then,” he said, meaning for his voice to sound clipped, but it just came out tired. Everything ached, which was the unfortunate norm in an elderly body, but his head was especially achey. The fall he’d taken yesterday had not been so easily forgiven, not to mention the effort it’d taken to summon the White Goddess and release Gwen from Morgana’s hold.

He didn’t feel like beating sense into the prat right now; he didn’t even want to stand upright anymore. He’d catch up later and they could all make a big joke about how useless he was or whatever and he’d reject Gwen’s pity with some offhanded comment about the irony of how little Arthur kept in his big head.

The king squinted at him a moment longer before turning and hiking up the gravelly hills that unfolded for the first league or so on the long journey back to Camelot.

Merlin nodded to himself in bitter amusement, watching them shrink until his head gave another pang. He hobbled down behind the rocks, just in case, before returning to his young body, then sitting down just to catch his breath a minute. He had been waiting for his cranky back and shoulders to readjust when it occurred to him that after that fall, the pain he was feeling was his  _ real _ body’s, along with that awful splitting headache that seemed to have gotten worse after using his magic to turn back.

Pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, moving to his sinuses and then temples, he tried to find a way to alleviate the pounding. In theory, he should be able to get rid of it, but his healing magic had always been a bit questionable, and in the end he decided he’d rather not risk making it any worse.

He decided to rest a bit until it let up just a bit more, figuring he wouldn’t be missed. Honestly, you dedicate your whole life to a man and he can’t be bothered to remember you exist? He swallowed, thinking back to how Arthur had taken one look at the “Dolma” and immediately declared how familiar she appeared. He’d almost been too pleased to be panicked. And then — even with a little prodding, he’d completely forgotten his manservant. Merlin struggled to reconcile the two kings in his head, but he wasn’t sure he would have been able to even without the banging going on in there.

The warlock was embarrassed once he grew aware of the twin hot streaks grazing slowly down his face, hurriedly scrubbing them away. Arthur himself had once told Merlin that no man was worth his tears — which Merlin had felt was really insensitive at the time, considering his father had just died; Arthur had cried like a baby when Uther passed and Uther was an asshole —

Merlin huffed a small deprecating laugh to himself. That wasn’t fair of him. If Uther had cared about anyone, it was Arthur. But anyways. If there was a moment to follow that advice, it was now. He was being utterly ridiculous. Sure, he’d sob his eyes out if anything happened to Arthur, but these stupid things — shouldn’t he be used to it by now? Shouldn’t it be below him to get upset over things like this?

But nothing, it seemed, was below him when it came to Arthur.

In any case, crying felt good. Maybe it was just a placebo, but it seemed to ease his headache a little, like releasing some of his bottled up stress and emotion was working a small wonder. At the very least, it was a distraction from the throbbing. He indulged in some more tears, edging from a sense of worthlessness to anger to self loathing to amusement, soaking his sleeves from mopping his eyes and appreciating the brief reprieve from the punishing stresses of destiny.

It felt like he’d been there awhile, but he had no way to tell precisely how long it’d actually been. Surely not more than ten minutes? . . .Fifteen?

Merlin needed to get up, but he’d absolutely tired himself out, physically and emotionally. Not long after he decided to stop thinking and simply rest for five more minutes, he drifted off, torso curled into the rocks and arms wrapped around himself.

▲

Arthur found himself touching Guinevere more than any other day of their marriage, assuring himself that she was here, that she wasn’t another loss to Morgana, another person he failed.

She’d pushed him off a few times, laughing that she could walk on her own, before telling him seriously that he could stop worrying. His eyes flitted over her constantly for the first fifteen minutes of their hike, before he gradually began to relax and accept the day as a victory.

He suddenly felt quite grateful to Merlin and Mordred. He’d have been at a total loss without them, though he’d be loath to admit so. His good spirits returning, he realized just how quiet their group was. His manservant must have been completely drained or sulking.

“You’re quiet Merlin, what’re you brooding over now?” he called out.

Guinevere slowed, facing him with a quizzical look, and as her lips formed his name as a question -  _ Merlin? _ \- before any sound escaped, Arthur suddenly whipped his head around.

But instead of spotting Merlin, his gaze met Mordred’s startled, wide eyes, and he saw his own panic and guilt reflected there.

“Oh gods,” he actually stumbled on the gravelly terrain, nearly taking the same tumble his manservant had.

_ Aren’t you forgetting something? _

He froze, and after a moment, Guinevere stopped, too. Mordred had already halted as soon as their eyes met.

Guinevere looked between the two of them, clearly lost, and suddenly Arthur broke the tension — he about-faced and took off running the way they had just come.

“Arthur!” Guinevere shouted, and when he heard them charging after him he twisted around, slowing briefly.

He pointed at Mordred. “Get the queen back to the horses. We’ll meet up with you,” he ordered, pretending that he didn’t trip over the  _ we _ .

“Absolutely not!” Guinevere huffed, hiking up her skirts. “Is Merlin back there? Was he with you?”

Arthur was almost glad for the adrenaline making his heart beat painfully in his chest. It made the weight of the massive stone in his stomach a little easier to ignore.

Fucking hell, how had he managed to forget  _ Merlin _ ? He must still be with that wacky sorcerer. He’d been grateful to her for saving Guinevere, but his blood boiled to think she’d held onto his manservant.

He made it back to the cauldron in half the time it took them to leave, suddenly reawakened from that journey-home daze. His wife and knight were panting not far behind him.

The king drew his sword, scanning the area for the old woman. “Where is he?” Arthur demanded, anger masking his guilt for the time being. “Merlin!”

He stomped around corners with his sword held out, scattering pebbles and making his presence known. He was not trying to sneak around. He would face the Dolma and demand his manservant back. 

Arthur nearly stepped on said manservant.

“Merlin!” he exclaimed, kneeling next to the man to search for injuries. He startled awake and then groaned.

“What did she do to you, Merlin?” he asked vehemently. “Where is she?”

Reaching up dizzily as if to steady his head, Merlin scowled up at him. “She didn’t do anything,” he grumbled. “You just left without me.”

“And you’ve just been sitting here, waiting for me to come carry you home?” Arthur snapped, desperately shoving away his guilt.

He was half hoping for a cheeky response, like  _ Yes, actually, it would be quite nice to be carried home _ but all he got was a tired glare.

He offered a hand that Merlin ignored, evidently preferring the assistance of the rocks he’d been sleeping against instead. Arthur was somewhat surprised by the rejection. Merlin might be a sulker, but he usually accepted help when he needed it. And something was clearly paining him from the way he braced against the rough slab.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, decidedly not fighting the concern in his voice.

“Nothing,” Merlin ground out, even as he rolled his shoulders and furrowed his brow against some unseen injury.

“You’re a horrible liar, Merlin.”

As his manservant turned a glare his way that could melt bedrock, Mordred appeared, Guinevere just behind him.

“Merlin,” Mordred gasped out, the guilt Arthur couldn’t seem to express clearly written on the young knight’s features. “I’m so sorry — we were all so tired-”

“I didn’t know,” Guinevere said sadly, reaching out to place a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. When he flinched, she pulled away.

“Sorry. M’ a little sore,” he said, offering one those not-quite smiles.

They all paused, as if uncertain what to do, until Merlin, reliable as ever, said, “Right, better hurry if we want to reach the horses before dark, let alone Camelot,” striding past the other three.

“We  _ were  _ halfway there,” Arthur meant to say it under his breath, but everyone heard him.

“Arthur,” Guinevere scolded.

“Well by all means, next time, don’t let me stop you,” Merlin said in a faux cheerful voice that did  _ not _ make Arthur flinch.

They remained silent, picking their way back to the horses, and all the attention Arthur’d spent on his wife before was now settled on the back of his manservant’s head.

▲

Everything went fairly smoothly once they returned. If any of the knights were suspicious of an impromptu trip consisting of the royal couple, Merlin, and Mordred, they chose to say nothing of it.

Merlin was feeling better after he’d downed one of Gaius’s dreadful draughts. The physician seemed to sense his moodiness with a raised brow, but did not press it.

“You did well, Merlin,” he assured the warlock, pulling him into a hug. “You saved Camelot once again, and Gwen.” He sighed. “I just wish you didn’t have to risk yourself so often.”

He knew at least Gaius would always be there to thank him. And really, he didn’t want recognition - so why wasn’t this enough?

Maybe he just didn’t want everyone to think he was totally useless. He considered Arthur finding him asleep, sitting around idly while he fought for his wife’s soul. The same old claws tugged at his heartstrings. He wished he could tell Arthur that he would always be by his side, that he always  _ had  _ been. He wanted Arthur to trust him fully for who he was. He wanted to tell him the truth.

_ One day _ , he told himself, like he always did.

Thanking Gaius for their brief supper, Merlin returned to Arthur’s chambers for the last evening duties. Even after the king’s marriage to Gwen, his job had hardly changed - he still had to dress him and feed him and wake him up along with stroking his fires and tidying his chambers. A twisted part of him had been grateful for this constant, but this evening he was tired and gloomy. He hoped that with Gwen’s return to herself, he’d find her tending to him and be able to head to bed as soon as possible.

But he entered an empty chamber. He peered around the room skeptically, almost as if expecting one of the royals to jump out at him from behind a corner or piece of furniture. It wasn’t like they were at dinner; they ate here. The evidence was on the table. He’d sent another servant up with their food so that he could update Gaius. He didn’t always tell him everything, but the majority he did, and he always felt better afterwards.

Perhaps they had gone for some sort of romantic stroll. He couldn’t figure out why they wouldn’t take the opportunity to turn in early for tonight after the day’s tolls, but what went on between a man and his wife was none of his business anyways.

He sighed a little as he stalked over to the fire, sparing another cautious glance over his shoulder before lighting it with a whisper. Arthur’d get pissy if he didn’t wait around, so until they came back he could take their plates back to the kitchen, and return to pull out Arthur’s nightclothes. Then he would just have to do menial tasks like straightening Arthur’s dresser and desk, both of which always grew messy in Merlin’s absence, or checking for missing goblets or misplaced pillows or whatever other objects he’d had to dodge after provoking the king. 

The warlock was subtly encouraging the growth of the flames, eyes glittering gold, when the door opened behind him and he started. His magic receded as he resumed the task manually, listening carefully. Only a single set of footsteps entered.

“Merlin.”

“Yes, sire,” he replied, not bothering to mask his fatigue. There was no reason to hide it like there was on nights after a secret, solo endeavor; it was reasonable for him to be tired. The king sounded tired, too.

When he was met with silence, he turned from his task to look back. Arthur’s eyes were on him for a moment longer before they closed and he spoke again. “I’m. . .sorry. About earlier.”

Merlin remained motionless a second too long before sitting back on his heels and nodding, turning his head back to survey the flames, wordlessly accepting the apology. What else could he do? It was rare enough he ever got one.

“I was so focused on getting Guinevere home,” he went on, letting his voice trail off. “I just. . .”

“I understand,” Merlin said, getting to his feet. He went over to the wardrobe to find Arthur’s nightclothes. “You have to focus on what’s important.” Merlin did. He always prioritized Arthur’s safety.

“Don’t,” Arthur said, suddenly sounding irritated.

Merlin selected a soft cream tunic and dug around for the loose tan pants. “Don’t what?”

Arthur huffed at him, striding over and shutting the wardrobe just as Merlin withdrew what he was looking for. “Act like you’re not important,” he said, staring the warlock down. Normally, such an admittance would have made Merlin’s heart soar. Instead, he held the gaze as he pressed the clothing into Arthur’s hands, then turned to the table to gather the dishes. The king seemed offended, tossing the neatly folded articles onto the bed where they sprawled in disarray. From the corner of Merlin’s eye, the white shirt looked like an angry slash in the bedcovers.

“Merlin, I’m speaking to you.”

He piled the plates atop one another. “I’m aware,  _ sire _ ,” he said, drawing out the title.

The king had followed him to the table as well. “Stop,” Arthur said, pushing the plates out of his hands so that they clattered noisily back onto the table. A fork and several grapes escaped to the floor. Merlin scowled at him. “Now what’d you do that for, you great prat?”

“You’re clearly still upset,” Arthur frowned back at him. He made a gesture. “Say what you have to say.”

Merlin really didn’t want to get into it, but if the king insisted, then he would humor him. “I know you think you don’t need me,” he said lowly, “but I’m always here to watch your back, Arthur. I can’t do that if I’m left behind.”

The king’s gaze softened in the slightest. “That’s not your job, Merlin. You know that. I had Mordred with me. Still, it was horrible to - to forget you. Inexcusable.”

Merlin hardly listened to the second half of his statements. He was so oblivious. So clueless the warlock wanted to scream.  _ It  _ IS _ my job, you dollophead. And you need to be protected _ from _ Mordred, not  _ by _ him! _

Mordred’s very name struck dread - and fear, if he were being honest - into Merlin’s heart. His thoughts spiraled darkly. “I bet Mordred was the one to notice,” he said bitterly, voicing the thought aloud before he’d actively made the decision. The druid seemed to be keeping tabs on him. His intentions could not be proved malignant as of yet, but it still left Merlin ill at ease.

“No,  _ I _ was,” Arthur said firmly, brow furrowed. “I-” he looked to be searching for words for an odd second. “I just. I had asked you why you were being so quiet. I assumed you were there. Because — you always are.”

This caught the warlock’s attention at last. He blinked as the king continued, “I rely on you for so much, Merlin. And, well,” he scratched the back of his neck, “I realize that’s not fair.”

“What do you mean?” Merlin jumped in quickly.

“Well, it’s like I said. That isn’t your job.”

“It is,” Merlin insisted fiercely. “I’m your best friend-” he had said it with such fervor that once he realized his slip up, it destroyed his conviction. Still, he pushed on, clearing his throat as his face burned, “You’re  _ my _ best friend,” he corrected himself, slightly subdued, “and I  _ will _ protect you, and I  _ will _ stand by your side. This has nothing to do with a job.”

Arthur stared at him, then nodded, a smile fighting its way onto his face. “You are,” he said. “My best friend, I mean. Why else do you think I’ve put up with your shoddy work for so long?” A hand settled on his shoulder as the king grew a bit more serious. “You’re a good man, Merlin.” He looked about to say something else, but then stopped.

“What?” Merlin asked, likely failing to conceal his eager tone and trying to control the grin splitting his face.

Arthur grew even more somber, the grip on his shoulder tightening. “I trust you, Merlin. More than anyone else. You do realize that, don’t you?”

Guilt settled in Merlin’s stomach.  _ One day. . . _

He swallowed it down. “You can trust me, Arthur,” he assured the man. “Everything I do is for you.”

Maybe it was a little too intimate to say, when they were both so serious and in that close proximity. But it was the truth, and perhaps it was time to admit it to Arthur.

To his surprise (but not to his disappointment) Arthur leaned forward and knocked their foreheads together. “I know,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. Then, almost an afterthought: “I don’t deserve you, Merlin.”

Their eyes met, and Merlin wondered if Arthur was kindly ignoring the shiver that ran through him, hadn’t noticed, or if Merlin had lost accurate sense of his body. The only feelings that mattered were the hand in contact with his shoulder and the lingering touch of their brows. “You do tend to take me for granted,” Merlin mused, eying the king’s lips, replaying the last sentence they had formed over and over again before he realized his mistake. His gaze flashed up to Arthur’s in a panic, only to discover that Arthur had to look up, too. Had he also been. . .?

The door opened behind them and they stumbled apart as Gwen entered the room. “Arthur, I-” she paused when spotting Merlin. “Oh, hello Merlin.” She offered him a look similar to the pitying one from earlier.

“Was Gaius able to help?” Arthur said, turning away from the moment as if it had never happened. Perhaps it never had.

“Yes, he was.”

“Wait, Gaius?” Merlin clarified, coming out of his stupor. His eyes swept over Gwen. “Are you alright?”

The queen looked a bit embarrassed. “Just a sleeping draught.” She looked down at her hands where they fiddled with a small bottle. “I admit, I’m afraid of what I might see, now that I hold control over my mind again.”

“Oh,” Merlin said, nodding sympathetically. He was no stranger to nightmares. “I hope you have a well deserved night’s rest.”

She smiled kindly at him. “You as well, Merlin.”

He nodded at them both again before turning to the dishes once more.

“Merlin,” Arthur’s voice nearly startled him again. He had retrieved his nightclothes from the bed. “Help me into these, would you?”

His heart had sped up and refused to slow as he undressed and redressed the king for bed. He could feel Arthur’s eyes weighing heavy on him, but was too cowardly to meet them, not sure what he would find. Already the incident from before was twisting in his mind. Gods, had Arthur seen him staring? He was such an idiot.

He tossed the shucked clothing away into a basket near the wardrobe and finally turned back to look at his friend, composed. A hand settled on the back of his neck instead of his shoulder this time, fingers digging lightly into his vertebrae. “Goodnight, Merlin.”

Arthur was not known for his light touches. The most Merlin tended to receive was a shove to the shoulder, and even that could send those ridiculous butterflies alight in his stomach. He hoped to the Triple Goddess that the tender touch hadn’t left him red in the face. The warlock swallowed thickly, even as the hand dropped away, ducking his head a bit self-consciously, but nothing that could be mistaken for actual deference. “Goodnight, sire.” It was a verbal backtrack, a nervous move, but he was apprehensive as to how Arthur’s name might sound if he’d tried to speak it in that moment. Daring a glance, he found the king studying him, clearly taking note of the word choice, and if his wits were worth their salt, Merlin should’ve made some sort of joke about Arthur deciding to turn his brain on so late in the day. As it was, he swallowed again and let his eyes wander elsewhere, casually, desperately. He overlooked Gwen twice before actually seeing her and managing, “Goodnight, Gwen.”

She wished him well again, and he made his way to the door in the quickest acceptable pace. In his haste, the plates and bowls of the king and queen’s dinner were left forgotten on the table. He didn’t slow until he was back at the physician’s tower.

He had imagined it, he decided. Arthur had just got Gwen back, after all. Merlin must be losing his mind. Projecting his desires into reality.

Still, Arthur had voiced his trust in Merlin. That was important. He refused to believe that was anything but solid memory. He would find a way to uphold that trust, despite the lie that sat heavy in his throat every day. In some way, he’d explain to Arthur why he’d deceived him for so long. Surely, he’d figure out how eventually.

One day.

**Author's Note:**

> me: merlin always forgives arthur too easily !!  
> my writing: yeah so arthur doesn't totally deserve it but of course merlin forgives him anyways because that's literally the whole show
> 
> thank you for taking time to read ! 
> 
> if i get time or the desire to i might add something more satisfactory but?? i can't promise anything with my distracted muse. also, this was more about fixing how easily brushed off merlin was in this episode. like. everyone else with this opinion has already said it but - comedic effect? seriously? after taking a tumble off a cliff (arguably arthur's fault because of the bags) and finally bringing back gwen, only to be forgotten. . .bbc did not explore how shitty that would make merlin feel. but i digress. i could write a whole series trying to fix every time someone takes him for granted


End file.
